


The cosmos says goodnight to you

by firstloveghost



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death (trust me you wont care about this one), Vomiting, one minor suicide thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstloveghost/pseuds/firstloveghost
Summary: Mihyuk falls with a heavy sound, ceramic puppet with no love, no strings.The frigid floor greets him hello, sending wistful serpents to spread the sensation over him until he's covered, limbs and core. The numbing sensation reaches deeper than his bones.It’s not over yet. Yet, not just yet.There’s no point in resisting.
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Lee Minhyuk
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	The cosmos says goodnight to you

**Author's Note:**

> be mindful of the tags, please  
> and sorry, i needed somewhere to word vomit

Just as his eyes start to roll back, Minhyuk doubles over.

Usually, the motion comes with unequal parts pain and sleepy ache, plus a certain degree of comfort; the pathetic relief of thinking _‘Ah, it’s over now, isn’t it?’._

But it’s not, not this time it seems.

Mihyuk falls with a heavy sound, ceramic puppet with no love, no strings.

The frigid floor greets him hello, sending wistful serpents to spread the sensation over him until he's covered, limbs and core. The numbing sensation reaches deeper than his bones.

It’s not over yet. Yet, not just yet.

There’s no point in resisting.

Minhyuk’s thoughts feel sluggish, fog engulfing past and future and everything that isn’t the atrocious pain.

That’s why he isn’t sure, at all really, but at least one of his ears seems to be bleeding. Rivulets of waste, nothing more than stains he’s gonna have to scrub away himself.

Unnecessary funerals for all of them. The ringing sound in his head will have to replace the trumpets. His smashed knee won’t allow for a march, but at least someone’ll be there.

A sudden kick hits him right in the stomach sending sharp, electrical tendrils that mess up his entire nervous system.

God, it hurts it _hurts_ it _**hurts**_ like exploding into a million pieces. _No!_ It hurts until he’s reduced to wanting to explode into a million pieces and nothing else.

Minhyuk coughs harshly, tears rolling down his cheeks, and they carry no mercy.

A nebula of dark and darker spots swirls around his vision. His left eye focuses just enough to watch as the drip drops splatter around him.

Colorful and colorless both, they blend together like gouache.

Minhyuk distantly imagines painting on an invisible canvas; an entire constellation with them, with pieces of himself. Leaving like so this dirt for the cosmos on a rocket, never to turn back.

Stars are prettier than people, surely, and kinder too, he thinks. At least all but one, his one light in the range of blacks.

Another kick and he’s on the verge of vomit.

Minhyuk hates it the most, the burn, the acid, and so he pleads, futily, just for a second or two, before his lunch meets the cold tiles.

Calliflower, munched on and still in chunks, an unpleasant cream color. Match made in heaven, if there’s one anyway, with the icy flooring.

Minhyuk realises, somehow delirious, that he must have been scammed, someone must have had to, right in the very beginning. What they sold him is no life, sir! But _mud_ , brownish greyish filth, viscous, unescapable.

He’s desperately tired of it all, three strides away from passing out. Chanting down just like ballet. One, and two, and—

The off-beat huff reaches Minhyuk’s single working ear.

His uncle hovers over him, disgusted enough to spit on him; it lands somewhere between his neck and the hem of his hoodie.

He mutters something Minhyuk doesn’t catch, doesn’t wanna hear. The sick nuance of his tone is enough to get the picture, truly.

Nothing he hasn't heard before, unquestionably. About him being gay, or looking girly, or being the most useless insect lucky enough to be walking on the face of planet Earth that should be fucking thankful for having all his graces because he wasn't even supposed to be born in the first place and— well, take your pick. Surprisingly expressive phrasing, for someone so brutal.

But finally, he leaves, he _leaves_ , satisfied with having destroyed whatever’s left of Minhyuk’s pale skin.

And so Minhyuk pants and heaves until his eyes roll back in his skull.

_Ah, it’s over now, isn’t it?_

Time means nothing.

* * *

Minhyuk comes to a house that’s dark.

He can’t hear any sounds, and there’s something distinctly wrong with the notion in itself. He should know the reason behind so, maybe maybe, but any thought flees like wind from the shaky grasp of his mind.

The wires connect in slow motion, one by one, with mild difficulty.

First comes the pain, ever the teacher's pet. Licks of flames ignite from his gut, his knee, his temples, and then outwards. Red flags everywhere.

His limbs are of cheap clay, and it takes Minhyuk a long while to pull up and sit, curled on himself.

Every move pulls strings of crying violins in his head. It motherfucking _hurts_.

And then it clicks, how one of his eardrums isn't working at all. The shiver of fear awakens him like years-old christmas lights.

That’s gonna be permanent, isn’t it? A deeper than usual dent in his already fragile shelter.

The thought is terrifying, and Minhyuk cups a trembling hand around his ear, as if to protect it from further harm.

His lungs, poor things, they work to their best capabilities to help, but the lethargic lack of oxygen never eases.

Minhyuk waits, labored breathing and wild eyes. Very very still; torn teddy in a toy box.

Are they gone? _Are_ they? Are they hiding, horrors of grasping hands, lingering, for him to round the corner? _Are_ they?

The house says nothing.

He’s dying, it feels like. No fanfare. Minhyuk doesn't know about the physicality of it, but slowly _slowly_ slowly, pearl by pearl, it feels like.

He’ll end up washed away in a sink, much like his own dark hair. Or his goldfish from when he was a kid.

The dark hours will make sure no one sees and he’ll die alone and abused; behind his eyelids the vivid picture of his own corpse thrown in the river, floating until bloated and unrecognizable.

The first sob startles him, roaring in the creaky silence of the living room.

His arm lurches to muffle the rest, but the sudden stretch only succedes in raising the volume higher.

It hurts it hurts it _never hurts any less_! Be it ten, fifty, a hundred hits, he’s not a meat punching bag! It hurts! The pain runs hot then cold then _black_.

Minhyuk’s a ugly crier, he knows this. His face pulls, constricts muscle after muscle. There’s no escaping, his blood screams at him.

He cries until his eyes dry and there’s no more water to cry, no more salt to expel. He doesn’t feel any better, only emptier, and thirsty.

Minhyuk sits, veil of grey settling over his brain. He knows he should move, do something, do _anything_ , run most of all.

But he doesn’t. Smart kid, foolish foolish kid. He’s sixteen, what is he even supposed to do. Suck dicks to eat? Kill himself? Best to not think at all.

The door rattles, swinging open.

Minhyuk tenses, and a whine escapes him unchained.

It’s gonna hurt! He has to run, hide, grab that horrible lamp on the coffee table, survive. Survive!

Minhyuk yells at his own flesh for motion, salvation, and in a second his fingers are curling around that stupid lamp handle.

But it’s Hyungwon who flips on the lightswitch, the one placed on the wall.

The shock of seeing his face is enough to push Minhyuk back on his knees, clutching fingers spasming in pain. The lamp rattles on the floor, but doesn’t break.

His boyfriend is on him in an instant.

“Minhyuk, Minhyuk, hey it’s okay, it’s _okay_ , it’s over—” he says, and feather-light hands caress his shoulders, his cheeks.

His presence alone makes Minhyuk’s heart soar, love and protection and light.

“Hyu—”

“Shhh, love, shhh, I promise it’s all over. Shhh.” Hyungwon murmurs.

His eyes scan him in a hurry, checking, cataloging everything that hurts, bleeds. How bad it is, how long it’ll take to heal, how much longer the gauze he has left will last until they have to buy more.

“He’s—” Minhyuk tries, nothing but hoarse sounds from his wounded throat, eyes frantically darting around the room. But Hyungwon shakes his head, sharp, determined.

His frown is pinched between furious and horribly sad, and in seeing it Minhyuk fears he might have found stored old tears within himself.

“He’s never gonna touch you again, love, I promise.” Hyungwon says. He gently angles Minhyuk’s head to look at him in the eyes, holds it softly from his neck; he smiles.

No star could ever compare.

Minhyuk sniffles, nods once before the crook of Hyungwon’s neck hides him from the inhuman world they inhabit.

His boyfriend’s lovely voice whispers a long string of sweet nothings, muted by his injured eardrum; the prettiest requiem Minhyuk has ever heard.

His certainty underlines each word, all of them cocooned in the space between them. How everything’s gonna be alright, more than alright, how Minhyuk is so strong, so brave, so perfect, so loved, how it’s all gonna be over soon. He keeps patting his hair, soothing him with every intake of breath.

“We’re going to the hospital, okay? I’m gonna drive you and—”

“No, wait, he will—”

“He won’t, love.” Hyungwon says, and there’s something in his words, something so final, solemn. Minhyuk stares at him, purple colored and shiny eyed, almost enchanted.

“He will never do anything to you, ever again. Do you understand? I made sure, okay?”

Minhyuk nods, lashes fluttering, as the impulse rapidly turns static into comprehensible knowledge.

“They’re gone, love.”

“They’re—?”

“Gone.” Hyungwon says; his smile is brilliant, and his eyes bright. The enormity of his relief makes Minhyuk relax by proxy. _Gone._

“Gone. Gone in the dirt. I made sure, okay? No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

Even if Minhyuk’s flesh protests, kissing Hyungwon is the only possible option.

* * *

The monitor beeps a sound quieter than what Minhyuk remembers.

It could be his ear’s fault, or the meds’, or something else entirely. There’s no energy left for neurosis, he’s afraid.

He’s tired, it’s late. The walls look very white.

The doctors had been very gentle with it all, his poor dolly limbs, torso, head.

Care had come with the plastic smell of their gloves, the squeak of their shoes as they stepped back and forth on the floor; a whole lot of antiseptic.

Each of them had smiled at him, and if he avoided their eyes, there’d be no pity. Far from sight, far from his battered empathy.

They had said it’ll heal, all of it, very promising, he’ll be fine fine fine, even more handsome than before.

Through gritted teeth, Minhyuk had tried his best to breath air, in and out, in and out and back again.

A sea of faces, between doctors, nurses, social services, Hyungwon’s parents. Laser pointed attention, and eyes like keyholes; when all Minhyuk wanted was to sleep, to wake up far far away from the nightmare.

A spaceship headed towards a kinder reality, two passengers. Tickets, please.

It was Hyungwon’s hand in his that had kept him on steady ground, rooted, distanced from the panic, paranoia. The mounting fear of more hurt, worse hurt, Hyungwon himself hurt, ever present.

But it’s late, and he’s tired. The walls take on a greyer tone with the lights all off.

Hyungwon is lying down with him, neglected guest bed a few hands away.

Minhyuk is glad, thankful to the skies that the nurses couldn’t get him to leave.

But they never stood a chance, did they now? Not after hearing Hyungwon say, “I found him lying on the floor, black and blue with bruises, covered in blood and puke and god— _please_ , you have to—to make sure he can stay with me, me and my family, please I can’t lose him I was _so—_ oh, _please_ ”

It was quite the impressive speech, tremors and prizes, yet the emotion behind it wasn’t fake one bit.

Minhyuk could tell, can still, just by looking at Hyungwon in the eyes. He has to angle his neck up, cushioned like they are, and it hurts, but it’s worth every second of discomfort.

Hyungwon stares back, long seconds of long lashes before bending down to kiss him.

It’s softer than cotton, rice flour lips. They travel from nose, to eyes, to temple, to Minhyuk’s own waiting lips. They move with no hurry, dry warmth and pure tenderness. Heavy heavy flowers.

Minhyuk soaks it in, swallows it, inhales quiet air through his nose.

His bandaged fingers run through Hyungwon’s hair gently and he lets go of a mellow sigh, one that sticks around. There’s no need for words.

The smack of lips is but a lullaby, a decrescendo of safety and repose. He’s home, more than he has ever been.

Soon, the world fades away and Minhyuk is asleep.

Even as morning comes, sunlight full of promises, Hyungwon keeps on holding him close.

**Author's Note:**

> we're just gonna ignore hyungwon killing two individuals and go our merry way  
> this is what being at home for 24+ hours does to my brain  
> stay safe  
> -hao


End file.
